


It Lingers

by doodle_doo



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Color Blindness, Dwarves in the Shire, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Hobbit Culture, Hover Translations, Khuzdul, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Soulmates, The Shire, Thorin POV, Thorin is a Softie, Young Frodo Baggins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodle_doo/pseuds/doodle_doo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits can only see colors once they've touched their soulmate, the colors fading with time. This is a problem when Thorin accompanies Bilbo back to the Shire after the reparations in Erebor are underway. Bilbo had written to his relatives back when things were better between them that he'd found his colors, but seemingly hadn't managed to make himself inform them that he'd lost them again, something that Thorin is only now realizing how much he regrets.</p><p>So just for this trip Bilbo asks Thorin to help him convince his relatives that he is still able to see colors. It will only take a few touches here or there, and don't worry, <i>nothing</i> will come of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on another soulmate AU and I thought of this but it didn't _quite_ fit. Quick little story to take a break from the behemoth I'm working on, then back to work. Let's see if I can actually manage to keep this short!

“So I will need your help,” Bilbo continued, looking straight forward and rubbing thumb over fingers as they neared the Hobbits’ settlement. “I will be fine with most things; it's only a few that I am still liable to make mistakes on. And it would only need be a small touch, nothing, nothing  _invasive_ \- If they are to believe that we are a pair, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary after all.”

It was only a fortnight previous that Bilbo had even given a hint of his predicament. He explained now as they approached the Shire that he’d sent word to some of his relatives about finding his soulmate while off on his journey, back before he’d found reason to return. Their relations had been… _bumpy_ on their quest, Thorin’s singleminded focus on their quest, the need to reclaim his homeland, his unjust disappointment- 

Thorin shook his head; it didn’t bear thinking now. Thorin had insisted on coming with Bilbo during his trip, officially saying that there would be need for diplomatic meetings in the name of Erebor (even if his sister _had_ scoffed at his abilities in any kind of politics), but truthfully because he desired the time it would afford him with Bilbo. 

“Why is it that you would need to touch me in the first place?” he asked.

Bilbo still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Thorin ground his teeth. For all the time that they had spent in Erebor together, after the battle had been won and the kingdom had started to rebuild, there were still times that Bilbo reacted as though he expected Thorin to berate him for any expression of fondness. It was as if things had returned to the way they were at the beginning of their quest. 

Thorin supposed he couldn’t blame Bilbo for any of that, not with his behavior at the gate. Bilbo's betrayal still stung, but it could _never_ have justly deserved the punishment Thorin had wrought. 

His memory of that time brought him no small amount of shame and regret. Not the least because he had chased away any chance of returning his _One’s_ affections with feelings that he had only just begun to nurture.

“They will expect me to know my colors now,” Bilbo admitted after a patch of silence.

“Ah,” he responded, and Thorin felt a familiar dose of shame come over him. Bilbo had had to wait until he met Thorin to know even a hint of color in the world around him, and because of his stubborn prejudices, Bilbo was still unable to see them for more than a few moments. 

“It would only be a quick touch if they are trying to test me, not that I think they would do that for long. It’s just that it’s somewhat of a tradition when there’s a new… well a new couple,” he trailed off. 

“Do what you must,” Thorin settled on.

Bilbo gave a quick bob of his head, biting his lips between his teeth and avoiding Thorin’s gaze. Could he have phrased that in a gentler way? He had given Bilbo free rein, telling him to do whatever he needed, and yet he still looked nervous.

“Would you like to practice?” Thorin suggested. 

Bilbo did look at him then, surprised hope laying plain on his features. Thorin reached out a had toward Bilbo, “Name for me the color of those flowers, just there.”

Bilbo laid careful fingers over his palm, steadying into a firmer grip as his breath picked up and he looked at the foliage around them.

They spent the remainder of their journey rehearsing not only how long and firm a touch would be needed to see different colors, but the _names_ of each of the colors as well. 

It came as a surprise the first time that Bilbo had to ask what the name of a color was.

“Those there, they’re called sweet pea flowers. Olive is a type of… of _purple_ , wouldn’t that be right? Or would those be a pink?” Bilbo asked. 

“No, olive is…” Thorin considered their surroundings. He grabbed the hand that Bilbo had been pointing with and moved it so he was instead pointing at a fallen tree. “It is green, like that moss. The flowers,” he continued, allowing his fingers to linger perhaps just a second too long, “do you know the color of tanzanite?" At Bilbo's puzzled expression, he searched for a shade a hobbit would be more familiar with. "Lavender, then.” 

“Oh, of course,” Bilbo said, giving his head a quick shake. Thorin could still see though, that a flush had risen on his cheeks. Whether from embarrassment or something else, Thorin couldn’t say, even if he did hope. “Like the flowers of course. _Lavender_ flowers, I mean. They are their own type of flowers, where the color comes from." He brought his head up to look at Thorin with a chagrinned expression. "I imagine it’s easier to keep them straight when you know your colors.” 

Yes, Thorin considered. It likely would be.

. o O o .

They stayed with Bilbo’s cousins, the inheritors of Bilbo’s family home, Bag End. Thorin couldn’t relate to the strangeness of being a guest in ones own home, but he still picked up on the faint discomfort Bilbo’s familiarity with the hobbit hole leant to their interactions. Drogo and Primula were fine hosts, though, and Bilbo was clearly well-versed in handling such situations smoothly. From what experience he would have gained that knowledge, Thorin didn’t care to guess.

Their son Frodo had taken a particular interest in Thorin, and was now asking him the colors of various objects in the room as Bilbo and Drogo cooked in preparation for supper.

“The pot!”

“Which one, mamamûn?” 

“That one!” Frodo cried, bouncing as he pointed at a shelf of… 

“The vases?” he asked. 

“ _Crockery_ , dearheart,” Primula corrected from where she sat knitting.

“The crock’ry, that one!”

“That is _yellow_ ,” Thorin encouraged with a small grin. “Did I get it right?” 

“I don’t _know!_ ” the fauntling cackled. Frodo smacked his hands together and rocked back against Thorin’s grip from his seat on his lap. He couldn’t help but laugh along, if only to mirror the delight the child was experiencing. It had been a long while since he had been around a child so young. 

Thorin had learned that it was a great game to young hobbits to guess at the colors of items around them. They had no way of seeing the colors themselves, to his knowledge, so it seemed the answers were nothing more than blind guesses. He would think it odd that they found such enjoyment in it if he didn’t remember the nonsensical games his nephews had played at such an age (not to mention the asinine ones they played even now).

Thorin shook his head against the memory. “Do you know anything else that is yellow?”

Frodo curled tiny fingers in front of his mouth as he shook his head, dark curls bouncing against the sides of his face.

“What is yellow and in the sky?” his mother asked.

“A flower,” he answered, leaning back into Thorin’s arm.

But Primula shook her head as she suppressed a smile and set down her knitting needles. “In the _sky_ , dearheart. Tell Uncle Thorin what is yellow and is in the sky,” she asked, raising her arms to form a circle, fingertips meeting just above her head.

Thorin steadied the fauntling, grabbing him by the waist with both hands as he mimicked his mother.

“The sun!” he crowed. 

“Yes, the sun, how smart you are!” she praised, leaning in to tickle his belly. “How about you ask your Uncle Bilbo one, now? Tell him something from the kitchen.”

Bilbo caught his eye from the kitchen, the barest hint of extra white around his eyes. He was too far now to let Bilbo sneak a touch; what would he be able to guess without seeing? Thorin let his eyes roam the kitchen. Before he could decide on something though, Frodo called out his question.

“What color is… the rug!”

Thorin watched Bilbo eye the rug and then look back at him, expression holding a thinly veiled panic. 

“Is it… um,” he swallowed, shaking his head as he looked down at the little carpet beneath their feet. “Well I can’t, I find I can’t quite remember it’s name,” he finished in a nervous lilt, hand finding its way to the fringe at his neck. 

“Frodo, I think your uncle could use some help,” Drogo prompted. “Can you tell him the _big_ color of the rug?” 

Thorin lifted his brow and made a show of adjusting one of the rings on his right hand before shifting his attention to Frodo. It was still a stretch if Bilbo didn't remember the name of the stone in his ring, but-

“It’s green,” Frodo giggled.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “well thank you _very_ much Frodo, I believe I’ll be able to name it now. I do believe the shade I am looking for is… _jade_.” 

Bilbo looked over to Thorin for confirmation, who bobbed his head to the side. It was a fair guess.

“Did he get it? Did he, Uncle Thorin? What color is jade?”

“Jade is green. I suppose I can accept his answer,” Thorin allowed. “Although _I_ would have said emerald.”

Bilbo cracked a smile before turning back to the pot he was seasoning. “Well pardon me for not knowing one green gem from another. You’re lucky I even know that much,” Bilbo groused, but Thorin could tell that he was relieved. “These dwarves don’t put the same importance on color that hobbits do,” he told his cousins. “It’s only a concern if there is a gemstone to match. No care at all for learning the colors of flowers, I'm afraid."  

“So now you feed me to wargs?” Thorin asked with a laugh. _Traitor!_ It had been on the tip of his tongue, but he clamped his mouth shut at the last moment. Things were going well, this was no time to let a clumsy tongue ruin things between them. "We care about metals as well," he said instead, "don't let him tell you any different. A silver beard," he informed them, looking over to Bilbo, "or golden curls-"

"Alright fine, you dwarves can describe a color just as well as a hobbit, you can stop now!"

"He is just smitten Bilbo, you mustn't get cross," Drogo grinned. 

Primula leaned over to pat Thorin on the arm, and Thorin broke eye contact with her to look at Bilbo, blushing as bright as... as the zinnia flowers outside.

Thorin looked away. Perhaps Bilbo was right. For all that Thorin could dress him in the finest metals and gems in Erebor's treasury, he really was better complemented by by the flowers of his home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mamamûn - little one


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few nights later that Drogo and Primula accompanied the two of them to a party being held near the center of Hobbiton.

As they arrived, Drogo described to Thorin in _great_ _detail_ what the hobbits called a Party Tree. From what Thorin could tell, it was hardly distinguishable from any of the other oak trees in the area, if perhaps a bit larger. The tree did occupy a central location in a field of verdant grass where it seemed that many of the Shire’s inhabitants had long begun celebrating, and it painted a grander picture than Thorin would have imagined for a place so unlike his homeland.

The area was lit with strings of tiny colored lanterns hanging from nearby trees and poles anchored in the soil beneath them, gently lighting the area in soft pinks and blues and yellows. The smell of freshly cooked meats, breads, and cheeses wafted up to greet them as they made their way between the surrounding hills. Thorin startled at bright shrieks of laughter that broke the distant sound of the lilting music and humming conversation, and before he could stop it, Frodo wiggled out of his grasp to run toward a group of young hobbits darting between the tables of food, disappearing beneath vividly hued tablecloths.

As the night progressed, Thorin made sure to catch Bilbo’s hand more than a few times, ostensibly to ensure that he was able to see the colors of not only the decorations but also of the clothing of the hobbits surrounding them. It seemed to Thorin that the hobbits must relish in the colors surrounding them once they were revealed, and Thorin couldn’t say that he would blame them. 

Thorin watched Bilbo’s eyes wander the crowds of people, and more than once caught Bilbo’s eyes lingering on his own before tearing away to continue taking in the explosion of color. True to Bilbo’s warning, many of the relatives that stopped them for conversation would ask the two of them to name colors the colors in that vase, _that one there_ , or describe their favorite shade of red or violet or blue.

“Are all hobbits born without color?” Thorin asked. 

“Oh, no,” Bilbo answered. “It’s only those born with a soul-match.”

One of Bilbo’s many relatives listening to them talk while pretending to be otherwise occupied turned to join them. Apparently the topic had been too much to feign ignorance any longer. “It was a long while that we thought Bilbo’s other half had been lost to us, you know. Most of us had given up on him ever finding you.” 

Bilbo made to withdraw his hand with an embarrassed roll of his eyes, but he’d already done so enough times that night that Thorin knew to expect it. So instead of letting Bilbo’s hand leave his own, he grasped it firm, keeping Bilbo from doing more than just squirming his fingers against his. 

Such interruptions to their conversations had been a near constant as they had made their way through the festivities. Bilbo stopped to respond and talk with selections of his relatives, there apparently being some that didn’t even merit a polite greeting, although Thorin had trouble imagining such a thing. They quickly became the center of attention wherever they stopped long enough, conspicuous whispers of _A dwarf for a soulmate, can you imagine,_ or the less kind, _Mad Baggins and his Dwarf_ never far behind.

“But you’ve got each other now, haven’t you,” she smiled at them. Bilbo’s smile was strained, and Thorin couldn’t think of anything else to do than squeeze his hand. He’d had to wait for most of his life to see any of this, and Thorin would have him see it every moment of the night if he could. 

 

. o O o .

“What was your first color, Mister Baggins?”

Thorin watched as Bilbo turned and gave the young hobbit his full attention, affecting a look of concentration before continuing. The playfulness in his demeanor made Thorin smile. He wished that Bilbo could have known Fíli and Kíli when they were young; they would have loved him as much then as they did now. 

“Well, the first color I _ever_ saw was orange,” Bilbo answered after a moment of consideration. They had gathered a small crowd of hobbits, young and old, eager to hear Bilbo recount the story of his first colors. Thorin found that he was eager to hear the answer himself. It hadn’t occurred to him that such a thing would be so significant, but it made _sense_. And it _had_ to have been at some point during their quest. He couldn’t think of when it was that they had first touched though. 

“I’m sure it was the flames from my fireplace now. We must have just brushed together that first night in Bag End. In fact I’d doubted that I’d even seen anything at all,” he continued. “I’d always heard that your first color is unmistakable, but I was a hobbit of over fifty years; I had figured colors were something I would never see,” and the hobbits nodded their heads in apparent sympathy. 

“And _certainly_ not in the company I had that night.” Bilbo grinned back at him, and the crowd of hobbits erupted in a mess of giggles. “It was that night all these dwarfs came barging into my house,” he continued with a thoughtful grin on his face. “If I’m an honest hobbit, it was the thought that I'd let my chance to see colors pass me by that finally made my decision to join Thorin’s company. It's not an opportunity one should readily give up.” 

Thorin couldn’t help but notice that Bilbo wasn’t quite making eye contact with him anymore. It could be because he was just being polite, now keeping eye contact instead with those in the crowd listening to his story. 

“When was it that you were sure, then?” another of the hobbits asked. 

Bilbo’s mouth pursed and the fingers laced between Thorin’s began to squirm. “Well,” Bilbo started, finally glancing back at Thorin with a considering and perhaps slightly worried expression. He seemed to find what he needed there and squeezed Thorin’s hand before looking back over to the Hobbits watching them and speaking again. “We travelled across the Misty Mountains, you remember. We did not know it at the time, but we were walking not upon the steady rock of a mountain, but upon the very knees of a _stone giant_.” 

Bilbo paused to great dramatic effect, his countenance returning to that of a practiced storyteller, and the hobbits around them sat wide-eyed at just the notion of the dangers they had faced so early in their journey. But Thorin felt his own arms grow restless and fought down the urge to find a reason to excuse himself elsewhere; he remembered what happened next in their story. 

“I fell off the face of the mountain,” Bilbo continued in a low hush, and the hobbits sat transfixed. 

“I was a Hobbit straight out of the Shire; you understand that I wasn’t cut out to be some great adventurer,” he reasoned to several nodding heads. “It wasn’t as though I was ready yet to save myself. Not completely, in any case.

"Thorin saved me,” he said, patting the back of his hand turning his face to look at Thorin with a not-quite smile on his face. Thorin didn’t know how he was meant to respond, but he remembered what he’d said then. He’d been angry and had felt that he’d been cheated out of a true _One,_  

_\- He should never have come -_

Angry at receiving such a soft and- and _useless_ creature instead.   

_\- He has no place amongst us -_

He hadn’t realized that was when Bilbo had first truly seen his colors. Hadn’t known that was even such a thing for hobbits. If he was honest, he didn’t think it would have made much of a difference at the time, but now he found that he couldn't meet a single hobbit's eyes; it made him mourn for the time he’d wasted.

“Thorin rescued me,” Bilbo said, perhaps too softly for everyone to have heard, but Thorin had to look away then, shame renewed.

“But then you saved him back!” a young voice called from the crowd. 

And yes, Bilbo had saved him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! Anything you guys would especially like to see more of? This is the end of what I had planned out, so I've got a little extra space to write something in if you'd like before we reach the ending. Leave your answer in the comments and don't forget to press that **| ♥ Kudos |** button if you've enjoyed the story so far!


	3. Chapter 3

The following day they visited Bilbo’s Bolger and Proudfoot relatives. He would have sworn on his father's swords that they’d already visited this hole if not for the fact that the furniture and occupants would need to have changed from a few days previous, but at least the conversation seemed to be the same. 

Upon waking that morning, Thorin had found himself dealing with a sour mouth and pounding head. As soon as they'd arrived, he'd let himself rest his head against his palm as the conversation in the room continued without him (sensitive hobbit manners be damned, his head _hurt_ ). Thorin had to admit that Bilbo had warned him against drinking so much of the hobbits’ wine the night previous, but he still found himself in a foul enough mood that he wasn’t able to tamp down the temptation to be stubborn and refuse seeking any help. He would let Bilbo take care of the conversation today. Just until his head was better.

“Now tell us, Thorin dear, what flowers did Bilbo put in his bouquet for you?” Belba asked from the seat next to him.

Thorin looked up at her in confusion. Had Bilbo given him flowers last night? His memories were somewhat cluttered when it came to the later hours of the night but. But didn’t remember any… 

“Ah,” Bilbo interrupted with a hesitant tilt to his head. Was he nervous? “Dwarfs, they don’t exchange flowers. Not the same interest in them, I’m afraid,” he told her with a tight smile.

“Well what is it you did then, if not exchange flowers?” Bodo asked from his seat next to Bilbo. “Surely you did _something_.”

Thorin gingerly lifted himself from his chair to take a few steps closer to where Bilbo and the crowd of relatives were standing, his stomach moving with him. “I gifted him a mithril shirt,” he answered, pressing a finger to his temple. The hobbits turned to face him with uncomprehending expressions, Bilbo included.

“Mithril is the most precious of metals gifted to the stone, as strong as it is light,” he explained, blinking back the fog in his head. Bilbo was looking at him now in askance, as if he was still unsure that the gift had been intended that way.

“At the time I'd been plagued with the same illness of the mind that claimed my grandfather and cost my people the loss of their homeland. And…” Thorin paused, glancing at the other hobbits in the room before returning his attention to Bilbo, whose eyes were caught on his. “War was upon us, no matter what else was happening. And the only thing that was able to break through the sickness,” Thorin took a breath, pushing against the unsteadiness he felt in his head, “was the thought that I had to keep the one I loved safe.”

There was a pause before Thorin snapped his mouth shut and a sudden bolt of fear shot down his chest. Bilbo only looked at him with a stuttered hope though, breaking eye contact to shake his head and run thumbs against fingers, brows drawn tight. When he looked back to Thorin though, there was at least a smile there, caught up with no small amount of trepidation and incredulity.

“Truly, Thorin?”

Thorin let his breath escape him, relieved even as his heart continued to race, “Truly.”

“ _Well_ ,” Bodo interrupted them, and Thorin couldn’t help but close his eyes against the stab of pain in his head, “I would say that is certainly romantic enough for the son of Belladonna Took, wouldn’t you agree?” The hobbits around them laughed and agreed in a jumble of assenting answers. Thorin wasn’t certain whether he should be offended, but he only managed to sit down in his chair again and clutch his forehead. 

“I know what we’ve got yet to do, though,” Bodo continued. “Can’t leave your match waiting any longer now that you’re back here, now can we?” he asked, presumably to Bilbo from his adamant stammers of  _really, he’d be quite alright staying inside_ , and _No, no no no, he should really stay here with Thorin,_ when one of the other relatives leaned over to Thorin.

“A bit much to drink last night?” he asked in a thankfully soft, if altogether too amused tone of voice. Thorin only grunted and turned his face further into the hand he was leaning on, blocking just a little more light from reaching his eyes. “I know the feeling,” the voice continued. “Wouldn’t want to be out in the sun right now, would you? I’ll make sure Pa doesn’t try to drag you out there with cousin Bilbo. You just stay here, I’ve got something that will fix you right up.”

“He’s feeling ill, is he,” another voice asked.

“Just a headache Aunt Belba, I’m going to go fix him a pot of my mother’s tea mix.”

A face ducked down into his field of vision, and Thorin startled back into the chair.

“Did you eat your first breakfast this morning?” she asked.

Thorin shook his head. He hadn’t, he’d slept through it. Thorin got only a disappointed expression for his efforts as Belba tutted at him. “Well that will do it! You can’t skip a meal like that in the morning, it’s bad for your health. Especially at your age! Did you get enough for second breakfast at least?”

Thorin frowned at the noise and contemplated lying just to get rid of the noise. 

“Uncle Thorin slept through second breakfast!” Frodo squealed as he ran up to hang off one of Thorin’s knees. “And he wouldn’t eat anything at elevensies either,” he informed his aunt earnestly. “Mom said his tummy hurt even if he was hungry so he couldn’t eat it.”

Thorin did his best to restrain the scowl that was fighting its way onto his face. Belba was already directing a disappointed expression in his direction though, so he settled on sulking instead. 

“Frodo, why don’t you go help your cousin Odo get something ready for Thorin. And make sure there’s food on the plate, I won’t have your Uncle Thorin waiting until luncheon just for a bite to eat.” Frodo nodded and scampered off between the legs of the other hobbits in the room, and Belba turned to face him again. “As for you,” she scolded. Her voice fell to become much softer, “I would think that a lay down would help that head of yours until the tea is ready, hm?” 

Thorin let out a harsh breath of relief. But, “I should stay with Bilbo-“

“Oh, Bodo’s already dragged him out, pushy thing he is. They’ll be back soon, though. Just gone out to get you a little something,” she said with a delighted grin. “Alright then,” she said, lifting herself and pulling at Thorin’s arm. “Up you get. You can lie down in the guest room for now,” she said, leading him down a winding hallway. “I’ll send the boys back with some tea and pies in a few minutes, you just rest.”

. o O o .

Thorin woke again to the sound of raised voices, but thankfully his head had all but cleared. 

He took a moment to sit up and rub his face before he heard the muffled sound of Bilbo’s voice through the door. It was difficult to tell what was going on without words, but there was definitely some sort of argument. Thorin shivered as his bare feet hit the cold ground, and he made his way toward the voices.

“It’s because he’s a dwarf, isn’t it?” he heard one of them ask, although it didn’t really seem to be a question.

“It’s- _no_. It’s certainly not, and it wouldn’t be any of your business anyway if it were, this is-“

Before he could make his way to the main hall of the house, Thorin was stopped.

“Uncle Thorin,” a wobbly voice interrupted. Thorin looked down to find watery eyes and a mop of dark curls huddled against the frame of a nearby door. What had happened? “You said that you were Uncle Bilbo’s soul-match,” the boy whimpered.

Thorin stooped to scoop Frodo into his arms, “I am, mamamûn, and he is mine. Who told you otherwise?”

“Grampa Bodo was mad when he came back,” Frodo mumbled into the side of his neck. Thorin reached his hand to cradle the back of Frodo’s head and murmured reassurances against his tiny ear as he started toward the center of the house.

Thorin’s footsteps were loud with the weight of his boots, and the voices quieted when he entered the room. Bilbo stood with a stricken look on his face, clutching a rumpled bunch of… Well they were likely flowers, he supposed.

One of the younger relatives, head topped with tight brown curls, was the first to turn away from him. “You’ve been _lying_ to us ever since you returned, haven't you?” they sneered, breaking the sudden lull. “How could you try to fool your own family. Having us believe you had been matched with a _dwarf prince_ of all things. Have you no shame?” 

Thorin could feel a tide of anger building up in his chest, not only at Bilbo’s supposed _family_ treating him in such a manner, but also at himself for putting Bilbo in such a position in the first place. Thorin let Frodo down to the ground near his father and continued into the room.

“And you would have gotten away with such lies if Bodo hadn’t tried to _help_ you. That bouquet is shameful,” another scoffed. “A _child_ without their colors could do better.” What was it about the flowers? 

Thorin's stomach sank when he realized; _Bilbo couldn’t see his colors_. Had he not…?

Thorin tried to think back to the last time they had touched hands. Surely they had at some point? Surely he hadn’t let Bilbo go since the previous night? But Thorin hadn’t woken up until well into the day, and even then Bilbo had kept his distance knowing that he was in pain. 

The flowers plucked at something else in his memories, but it slipped and flitted about his memory, never quite in focus. The bunch was composed of several different types of flowers, all different but for the fact that they were all missing any hues of red or orange or… or yellow. 

Thorin shook his head. He was- Bilbo had said something about that last night amid the drinks they’d shared, hadn’t he?

“I…” Bilbo pursed his lips, running the fingers of his free hand over the stem of a pale green, spidery looking flower. They’d seen several patches of them in reds and pinks a few days ago in the Bolgers’ garden. Thorin remembered telling Bilbo that he’d never seen such a flower before.

“They look lovely to me,” Bilbo argued now with a downtrodden, but defiant glint to his eye.

“Of course they look fine to you,” one of them jeered, snatching the bunch of flowers out of Bilbo’s hands. “You can’t even see them. You would think anything passable with eyes like _that_.”

Thorin took the last step forward. “They are not for you,” he growled, not bothering to soften his tone. He grabbed the bunch of flowers in one hand, Bilbo’s in the other, and led him out of the room. He reached the front door door and paused. “Good day!” he spat, swinging the door open and marching out, leaving the stunned hobbits behind them.

. o O o .

Thorin took angry strides far past the house and gardens and further off the roads, Bilbo plodding along beside him without complaint. Thorin waited until his temper had cooled enough to speak calmly again, and found himself at the top of what looked like a fairly isolated patch of grass.

“You do realize we’re standing atop Andwise Roper’s smial,” Bilbo posited in a testy voice after a moment of silence, pulling his hand free. Thorin let out a groan of frustration and sank down on the grass.

"It is a good thing I am returning to the mountain," Bilbo muttered, face pinched and cheeks flushed in shame. "I'll never be able to face my family now, not after that fiasco." He paced across the top of the hill while Thorin replayed what he'd just seen in his head. How could they have treated Bilbo in such a way?

“And you can get rid of those flowers, they are quite embarrassing now that I can actually see them now,” he groused, flicking his hand over to the bunch of pale flowers. 

“I won't be rid of them,” Thorin snapped. He let his jaw tense and relax before continuing. He _wasn’t_ upset with Bilbo. “Your kin should not treat you in such a despicable way. You shouldn't have been made to feel as though you need to lie to them in the first place.”

Bilbo scuffed an angry foot against the grass, face turning sharply to the side even as his face started to smooth. “Well it’s not as though they were wrong,” he grumbled. “I did lie to them.”

“We _both_ lied to them,” Thorin interrupted, “though they directed their ire solely at you.”

“They are my family,” Bilbo replied with an annoyed shake to his head, hand flying outward as he paced across the grass. “They couldn’t very well be angry with a guest, now could they?”

"Why is it that your kin should be allowed less benefit of doubt than a stranger in your home? Such thinking is backward." 

Bilbo didn't answer him, instead stopping to stare down at the flowers in Thorin's hand. Bilbo had picked them when he still hadn’t been able to see any color hadn’t he? But the colors of the flowers didn't seem common, too many blues and greens interspersed among white and violet blooms.

_\- They won’t fade all at once Thorin, you can let go now -_

But then why were none of the flowers any of the bright oranges or pinks or reds that dotted the hills of the Shire? It was common enough to find a purple or a white bloom growing in a garden or in a patch alongside the road. But in order to find the green flowers - And the _blue_ ones. What had Bilbo said about the blue ones?

Bilbo reached down to pluck the flowers from Thorin’s grip, but Thorin swung them out of Bilbo’s grasp. He instead used the moment to tug lightly on Bilbo’s vest, pulling him to sit on the grass as well. Thorin had only to take a light hold of Bilbo’s shoulder to keep him from snatching the flowers away, making sure to hold him just far enough that his arms couldn’t reach. After a few failed attempts, Thorin gently settled the flowers before them in a matter of truce. When he looked over at Bilbo, Thorin found him looking morosely at the flowers, still shamefaced as he'd been back at the house.

“Your kin may not recognize their value,” Thorin told him, nodding at the flowers leaning to touch their shoulders together, “but I can see it plainly, Master Baggins. I won’t have my gift parted from me so soon.”

Bilbo’s eyes darted away from the flowers and up to Thorin under a concerned brow. “Has someone taught you to read flowers then?”

“No,” Thorin assured him. Thorin looked again at the flowers in askance of some sort of hidden meaning, but he wasn’t sure that Bilbo had even mentioned such a thing even if he had made some note of them before… But Bilbo _had_ told him something about blue flowers the night before, of that he was sure. 

“These ones,” Thorin said, separating a small bunch of white flowers connected by stems as thin as lace, “I remember seeing them before. Do they have a special meaning to hobbits?”

“Oh! No, no, no,” Bilbo said. “I wouldn’t have given those to you for their meanings, that would be…” Bilbo’s face cracked into a reluctant smile then. 

“If my relatives tried to read half the flowers in that bunch, especially with the colors I managed to pick, I imagine they would be quite horrified. No, I only chose those because they,” Bilbo’s words hung for just a moment, a look of trepidation coming over his face, “they grow outside of Erebor." 

Thorin settled the flowers back into the bunch. “Do they all have such meanings?”

“No. The rest of them, I simply chose whichever flowers had any color leftover from last night, for all the good it did me.”

_\- What do you see when the colors fade?_

_It’s different for each hobbit,_ Bilbo had told him. _But reds, they always fade first for me -_

Bilbo had said reds faded the quickest. He hadn’t been able to see their color. 

Thorin looked at the flowers again. What had Bilbo seen when he’d been picking the flowers?

_\- Oranges and yellows tend to fade close after red, violets soon after that._

      _But blue,_ Bilbo had murmured with a flicker of that familiar gaze, _blue always lingers -_

Thorin shifted to look at Bilbo where he was smoothing his hands down his pant legs, caught up in his own thoughts. After a few moments, Bilbo noticed the attention and looked up at him.

“Did you really mean it?” Bilbo asked. “What you said about the mithril shirt?” 

“I…” Thorin looked over at Bilbo and found he was only able to nod. He hesitantly grabbed Bilbo’s hand, and when he was met with no resistance, he cradled it between his own.

“I have not yet apologized for the way that I treated you,” Thorin confessed. 

“I told you all was forgiven, you were not yourself-“

“Not just at the gate,” Thorin interrupted. “Did I not dismiss you before I had even the chance to know you? I was unwilling to see the blessing that had been given to me, and only your suffering has come from it. You are brave,” he said, reaching up one of his hands to run a thumb against Bilbo’s temple, “and loyal. And I was blind to think you a misfortune for being part of my life.” Bilbo's gaze didn't waver now, his eyes a deep sapphire and cheeks flushed as a garnet. He was beautiful.

“I would give anything to have you keep your colors,” Thorin told him, “anything to bring a smile to your face again.” 

Bilbo’s eyes flitted incrementally down for just a moment, and when he looked back to Thorin’s eyes he leaned forward on his knees with only the slightest of hesitation. “There is something,” Bilbo told him in a hush, and Thorin’s heart picked up.

“ _Anything_ ,” he promised.

Bilbo closed the distance between them and Thorin had to suck in a deep breath as his eyes fell closed, Bilbo’s warm scent and the soft press of lips overtaking all thought. Bilbo’s free hand came up to run over the bones surrounding his eye as he pulled back again, but Thorin didn’t let him go far, bringing the soft skin of their brows to skim against each other as their noses bumped and lips tingled.

“I would have you with me _,_ ” Bilbo hummed with a tentative smile in his voice. He tilted his head, brushing their noses together, “Always, if I could.“ 

Thorin couldn’t hold back the elation he felt, a grin cracking over his features as he gathered his _One_ closer. “You have me,” he assured Bilbo, the sounds of birds and wind and insects brighter than they’d been before. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading! I had a lot of fun writing the story out and watching it change as it progressed, and YAY FOR ACTUALLY FINISHING, GOOD JOB JESS. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought on [tumblr](http://zarabal.tumblr.com) or in the comments, and don't forget to click that **| ♥ Kudos |** button if you enjoyed the story, it makes a huge difference!


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